


Deep in the Woods

by DoreyG



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Autumn, Haunted Woods, M/M, Pre-Slash, ToT: Chocolate Box, Trapped in the Woods, trick - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: The wind rustled through the trees in a low moan that raised the hairs on the back of my neck.





	Deep in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).



The wind rustled through the trees in a low moan that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. It was late October, but the woods around us were so cold that it felt like we should be in the dead of winter. The light around us seemed stuck in that twilight phase, the only grace note to the eerie almost-dark being the utter lack of sparkling vampires.

...Spooky, in other words.

"As fun as this is," I said, making sure to put the utmost huffiness possible into my voice, "I'd really, _really_ like to get out of here now. As in "right now" now, as in "preferably five minutes ago" now, as in "never even decided to check out the creepy woods in the first place now"-"

"Peter," Nightingale interrupted me, with a look that somewhat suggested he was desperately trying to bite back a laugh, "You've made your point, and I assure you that I'm aware of it. There's just one problem."

"One tiny problem." I sighed, shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat. It didn't do much good, to tell truth, the cold was bone-deep and vicious about it, "one small problem, one almost _insignificant_ problem..."

"I have no idea how to," Nightingale said, finishing my sentence again. I would've felt more genuinely warm over how often we did that, over how often our brains seemed to go down the same turnings and end up at the same conclusions, except I was genuinely starting to forget the concept of warmth, "I am not sure if the genius loci of this place is a particularly vicious and silent one, or if an unknown atrocity occurred here many years ago and is still tainting the ground around us, or if we simply stumbled into another spot of bad luck... But we seem to be stuck."

"In the spooky serial killer wood."

"Well, yes." He flashed me a smile, I grasped at the tiny spark of warmth raised by it like a starving man grasps at the last tin of dog food, "I thought that rather went without saying."

There were several responses that I could've made to that, in all seriousness. Saying "you're walking in the woods" with a totally straight face, for instance. Asking him for any tips on avoiding getting stabbed by murder trees, for another. Informing him that I could listen to his voice saying absolutely anything at _all_ for days on end, as a totally neutral example.

But none of those would've been helpful, so instead I settled on, "we'll figure out something in the end, though. We always do."

"Tempting fate," Nightingale warned, but with a fond smile on his face that caused another flicker of warmth as surely as breathing, "but... Yes, I think you're right. This has none of the hallmarks of the Faceless Man, after all."

"No tiger people," I pointed out, still determined to be helpful, "or lizard people, or casual racism."

"Quite." Nightingale pursed his lips briefly, as if fighting something acidic back, but soon seemed to gather himself again, "and so whatever this is should be relatively, _relatively_ , simple to deal with. It could be any number of fairly harmless things. It's almost - ah - Halloween, is it not?"

"When creatures crawl in search of blood, to terrorize y'all's neighborhood," I said, and didn't point out that he'd somehow managed to completely mispronounce Halloween, "besides, we have each other."

There was a long pause, so long that I half worried that one of the aforementioned murder trees had got him. But when I glanced over, half worried and half curious, he was only staring at me with an odd look in his eyes, "yes, Peter, we'll always have that."

It was only later, when Molly had rode to the rescue with Toby trotting behind her like the least noble steed ever, that I realized that maybe I'd brought a little warmth to him too.


End file.
